


Twisted Limbs

by Man_Who_Sold_The_World



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: F/M, characters to be added if this ever gets past this part, dont ask the time this is set in idk, i mean not really but, im publishing this on my school computer whoops, uh dubious consent?, uh this is beast smut dont @ me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 15:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18075734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Man_Who_Sold_The_World/pseuds/Man_Who_Sold_The_World
Summary: There is a price one must pay to traverse any forest unharmed, and The Unknown is no different.





	Twisted Limbs

The snow makes soft  _ crunches _ under her feet as she treads through the darkened forest. The moon is beginning to show as the sun sets. Basket in hand and cloak pulled around her, Isley makes her steps quick and sure. The people of the Unknown thought her strange, unafraid of the forest or its Beast, but were glad for her still. Messages and mail, small packages, and sometimes even people were led through the gloom by her hand, ever undisturbed by the Beast that lurked about, desperate for the oil to keep his soul burning.  She had just returned from delivering candles to Pottsfield, where the people had looked at her oddly as she arrived, but greeted her kindly nonetheless, and had sent her on her way with a pie. 

The sun is nearly set and Isley is determined to eat before her pie gets  _ too  _ cold. Wanting to be undisturbed by any animals, she slings her bag over her back and climbs to the lowest branch, sitting just five or so feet off the ground.  She wraps her black cloak around her to keep her warm as she takes out the small pie, digging into it shortly after. As the sun disappears, Isley feels a distinct cold settle over her.  All light, save for that coming from the Lantern she stole, vanishes from her view. 

“That isn’t yours.”  The voice is familiar.  Angry, but familiar.

“I’m eating,” Isley mutters, turning to face him. For once, she’s level with him, his eyes burning into her.

“You stole it.” 

“You have no problem with stealing when they're souls,” she retorts, the Beast stepping around to face her.  “Besides, it’s my leverage. Without it, no one would bother sending me through this forest.”

“It’s burning out, you’re  _ letting  _ it burn out,” he rebukes, nearing her as she sets the tin down. 

“That’s not my problem.  Besides, there haven’t been any lost souls to turn for your oil anyway,” she counters, watching him, then smiling wryly. “Though your friend the silversmith left you a supply to hold you over...you’ll never find it,” she taunts, his eyes growing angry. 

“You don’t fear me now, but you would if you knew what the  _ After  _ was like,” he mutters lowly. 

“I hope it was horrible, hope the silversmith is there now. Perhaps you two can become reacquainted once you go back there.”

“Don’t,” he growls, eyes aglow, hand held out in warning. “You’ve found a purpose here, helping the surrounding towns to deliver their goods.  Your fear of this place doesn’t stop you. It does them. But if there were nothing dangerous here, they wouldn’t  _ need  _ you.  You told me of the oil for a reason, and yet you are unwilling to disclose where it is.  You came here for  _ something _ .”

“I came here to negotiate,” she says at length, holding the lantern tighter. 

“I’m listening,” he replies as she hops down from the branch.  He towers over her once more, the moon glowing above him.

She smirks, opening the lantern and blowing upon the flame ever so lightly.

“Stop!” he shouts, all remaining light disappearing from the sky around them, his eyes burning brighter, almost blindingly so.  But when the oily flame continues to flicker, he seems to collect himself, then amends, “I’m listening... _ intently _ .”

Isley smiles.  “You were right before.  The way I see it, I need you around...at least until I can find something else to keep me busy.  If you aren’t here,  _ they  _ don’t fear the forest, and I’m useless.  But that oil...I won’t let you burn the souls of children just so that I can play messenger.  So spill your truth; there’s no way the oil’s the only thing that can keep you alive.”

The Beast hums, the shadows not  _ retreating _ , exactly, but feeling warmer. 

“There is,” he says significantly, a new, unplaceable note in his voice.

“Then why haven’t you used it?  There’s no way whatever it is can be harder to do than leading lost souls astray and turning their wood to oil,” she counters, gesturing to the forest around them.

“It requires a certain...kind of soul,” he begins, his statement accompanied by the faint sensation of a  _ hand _ moving down her back.  Isley turns, trying to find it.  “Lost, but with purpose still... _ willing _ .”  At this last word, she understands and looks to him, the hand now moving up to her shoulder. 

“And how would you know if I’m  _ willing _ ?” she asks, gasping as he reaches out, the back of his hand winter-cold against her cheek. 

“All that loneliness...all that hope gone...I can take it,” he offers, Isley leaning into his touch as his voice soothes her. 

“And turn me to your forest?” she asks softly, closing her eyes as she relaxes into him, cheek resting against his cloaked form. 

“No,  _ never _ ,” he assures, though deep down she knows, falsely. She pulls away, but the shadow hand at her shoulder is suddenly much more corporeal. 

“I’m not lost,” she insists, stepping back. 

“But you are not found, either,” he counters.  “What do you desire?”

“What do  _ you _ ?” she asks in return, nervous for the first time before him.  “My  _ soul  _ to burn, or  _ me _ ?”

“One and the same,” he answers, and she lets herself believe him.  He looks to her imploringly, eyes burning into her. She shuts her own and turns away. 

“Too _ bright _ …” she mutters, covering her eyes with her arm, suddenly becoming aware of how cold it had grown in the night. 

“Here,” he offers, shadows surrounding her still, hands from nowhere holding her. The hand on her face moves higher, covers her eyes as soft vines branch out from it, wrapping around her head and over his eyes. He then retracts his hand, the vines remaining, Isley shaking. A hand moves under her cloak and she panics. 

“Don’t!” she insists, his hand pausing.  “It’s too cold to take anything off, I’ll  _ freeze _ .” With the brush over her eyes, she is unable to see any expression of his, but she nearly  _ feels _ him smile.  He moves his hand slowly up her side, keeping her cloak on her. 

“You won’t,” he assures, phantom hands then caressing her thighs before lifting her from the ground, grasping her tightly.  Her hands curl around his own cloak, holding on desperately. He runs a hand over her hair, gripping it tightly and tugging it back.  She lets out a soft groan, fingers running over her throat lightly. “Are you afraid?” he asks.

“Very,” she confesses. 

“Of what?” he asks, cupping her chin. 

“I don’t know…” she whispers, the Beast chuckling.  She sucks in a breath as she feels him lower her to the ground, set against the trunk of the tree, his presence never leaving her.

“You will,” he assures darkly, his hands running over her thighs.  She leans forward, hands searching over him. 

Suddenly, one of his wraps around her wrist.  “Don’t,” he warns again, moving her hand to his face.  “You don’t want to know what lies beneath there.” 

She shudders, thumb running over his cheek.  After a moment, she moves it higher, grasping at his antlers, surprised by their wooden texture.  She pulls him closer, and he looms over her as she presses her cheek to his shoulder. He’s slow, but sure, in his movements. Phantom hands keep her still, though she suspected if she really struggled she could break free. Her breathing becomes unsteady as she tries to determine his next move. She feels a certain,  _ solid  _ hand work its way up her thigh, stopping at its apex, splayed over her hip. Precise fingers trace over the buttons of her trousers,  _ waiting _ for a sign. Finding words difficult, Isley simply nods against The Beast’s shoulder. Deftly, he unbuttons them, tugging them down just a few inches. She gasps at the sudden cold air against her bared skin, The Beast pulling his own cloak closer around them as she lets out a breath. She pulls away slightly, relaxing against the base of the tree for a moment, wanting more than anything to  _ see  _ what’s happening, but knowing she’ll be blinded if she does so. After a moment, he follows, knees planted in the snow on either side of her thighs. He cups her cheek, tracing a rough thumb over her lips as his other, more  _ corporeal _ hand presses against her. She lets out a loud whimper, his hand then covering her mouth. 

“Quiet now little one, voices carry in this forest, and what would they think if they heard their messenger gasping in the woods?” He asks smoothly, voice low as a long finger enters her. She groans against his hand, going limp for a moment before pressing against him, a wicked chuckle leaving his as he pulls away ever-so-slightly. After a breath, he moves his hand from her mouth, and trails it down her neck to her chest. 

“ _ Please _ .” she whispers simply, The Beast tracing invisible patterns in her skin as his fingers enter her once more, curling  _ just so _ . Isley struggles, but manages not to let out a sound. Tears press at her eyes, though not from pain, and The Beast collects them once they escape her mask of thorns, long fingers curled against her cheek. She arches her back once more, phantom hands releasing her as she presses herself against him, face buried in his cloak as a coarse thumb runs over her clit. A soft gasp escapes her, and she tilts her head back, taking in a deep breath. 

“ _ What did I say _ ?” he asks, voice low, nearly  _ threatening _ .

Isley smirks to herself, pressing closer still, muttering into his shoulder. “I’ve forgotten,  _ say it again _ .” she teases, cheeks burning as his ministrations continue. 

He chuckles lowly, curling his fingers within her as he speaks. “I said to  _ be quiet _ .” he warns, curling them once more as she lets out a lengthy moan. Her cheeks burn higher as he continues, Isley able to feel her wetness grow as he speaks. “What will they think of you if they hear?” he asks, ruthless in his movements. He traces a finger over her lips once more as they open into another gasp, phantom hands following unknown paths up the backs of her thighs. He pulls his fingers from her briefly before re-entering her. She lets out a deep groan, legs tensing in a moment of ecstasy, phantom hands massaging them as she goes limp against the tree. 

After a deep breath, she feels The Beast remove himself from her, her thighs uncomfortably wet in the cold. She contents herself with pulling her cloak closer around her, suddenly becoming aware of the weather as he pulls away, towering over her for a moment as she dares to shut her eyes, just for a bit and---

  
  
  
  


When she awakens, she’s frightened by the weight and darkness against her eyes until she remembers the events of the night previous. She doesn’t know where she is, but from what she can tell, it’s indoors and warm. She rises from the soft lounge she had been laid against, pushing the blindfold of branches up from her eyes. She rubs at them, still raw from the night before, and glances about. She was left in a small cottage, a firing burning, old blankets covering her, her trousers properly done, and the uncomfortable moist feeling from before mostly gone. She stands, padding over to the mantle of the fireplace and glancing into the small mirror atop it. The branches,  _ his branches _ , form a crown when pushed up against her forehead, one that seems wickedly familiar. She tears it from her head, twigs snapping in her hair as she throws it into the fire, chest heaving as she steps back. She glances around, eyes finding the lantern, brighter than she had ever seen it. After a breath, she notices something within herself too. 

“ _ So he didn’t lie _ ” Isley mutters, a strange empty feeling occupying where once that  _ distinct  _ isolation and lost hope had rooted theirselves. It didn’t hurt, just felt... _ odd. _ Even odder that he left  _ The Lantern  _ in her care, full-well knowing the threats she made. Her steps feel lighter as she changes into her only other outfit, fixing the bonnet on her head to keep the sun and bitter wind out of her face as she ventured out once more. Bucket in hand, she collects water from the stream, and carries the icy liquid back to the run-down cottage. Pouring the water into a basin, she removes her bonnet and begins scrubbing at her face. She watches the water as a  _ thin _ layer of blood-red oil forms a cap over it, the same color staining the rag she wipes her face off with. She then feels a distinct worry wash over her, but pushes it from her mind as she dries off and fixes the bonnet back to her head. She digs through her bag, looking over the letters and decides which direction to take for the day. With a breath, she’s off, grasping the lantern tightly as she marches through the melting snow to Auntie Whispers. 

 

 


End file.
